That Holy Title
by bananagirl.97
Summary: "Father!–to God himself we cannot give a holier name," - William Wordsworth. Three Father's Days in the life of Matthew Murdock. Though his Dad died when he was young; there always seemed to be someone.


**Hey everybody! Sorry I'm a little bit late with this but- Happy Father's Day to all the Dads in the world. In honour of the occasion, I decided to do what I can do and write a father x son fic, and this fandom made the most sense in my mind. This one-shot is dedicated to the wonderful RedHatMeg, who is always there to discuss Daredevil fic ideas, and writes amazing ones herself. Here we goooooo…..**

* * *

 _1._

He is eight years old, and his Dad is his superhero. He would do anything to show his Dad just how much he meant to him. All those nights stitching him up, he didn't see that as weakness; he saw every scar on Jack's face as a badge of honour. A symbol of his courage and perseverance. Matt wanted to do something to honour his Dad, and the approaching Father's Day was his perfect opportunity. He stayed up late, his hands nimbly cutting and sticking all the different elements of his masterpiece together. His Dad was out fighting, and Matt was desperately trying to finish it before he got home.

The next morning, Matt races out of his own bed and jumps into his Dad's, the present he has made clutched in his hand. Jack groans, rolling over to see his son's large, enthusiastic brown eyes staring up at him.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad!"

Jack's face shows confusion, as he slowly wakes up and remembers the date. As he does, he wraps his arms around his son's waist to pull him closer to him.

"Careful, you'll squash my present for you." Matt protests, pulling away from his dad's embrace.

"Present? Matty, you didn't have to get me anything."

"I didn't _get_ you anything- I _made_ you something."

Jack chuckles, "Okay smartass, what have you made me?"

Matt, shaking with a nervous excitement, passes his dad the rolled up piece of paper in his hand, tied somewhat neatly with a red ribbon. Jack's eyebrow raises in curiosity as he unties the ribbon and unrolls the paper. His smile widens and his eyes light up as he takes in the picture.

BATTLING JACK MURDOCK  
THE WORLD'S BEST BOXER.

The words are stuck at the top, the letters cut out from what Jack assumes must be various magazines and newspapers. Beneath the headline, Matt has drawn a picture of him, gloves on hand, belt on waist, and a crowd of fans around the edge of the ring. The closest person is a small boy, with a fringe full of brown hair drawn flopping in his face, and a big grin. Matt.

Jack is a tough guy. He doesn't cry very often; but the gift is enough to cause a small tear to run down his cheek. The boy catches this, and his smile drops.

"Dad, are you okay?"

Jack quickly rubs the tears from his eyes and looks Matt directly in his. "This is the best present I ever did get."

Matt's beautiful smile returns as he throws his arms round his dad's shoulders and holds him as tight as he can.

* * *

 _2._

Matt is eleven now. He sits there in his room at the orphanage, the nuns leaving him alone for the most part. His sightless eyes stare at a wall, whilst his hands do all the work. They fumble with the paper from the ice cream cone from that earlier day. He doesn't really know why he's doing this, but his childlike optimism tells him that the gesture will be appreciated. He knows that this gift won't be finished by the end of today, and even if it was, he wasn't even seeing the recipient today. The fact that he is making it on Father's Day is important to him though. It's a symbol of the man who is training Matt; teaching him to use his potential fully. Is that not what his Dad did before? Is that not the job of every father on this planet?

He sighs into the silence of the room. Maybe he's just being silly. Stick probably hasn't even realised that it's Father's Day. What was Stick's father like? Matt wonders momentarily before catching himself, because he knows that it's rude to wonder about other people's personal business. Matt focuses on the paper in his hands. Even without his sight, he knows that he will be able to create something beautiful for Stick. He knows because that is what Stick has taught him. Sight is one of many distractions. Sure, Matt missed being able to see the world, but he was still able to _see_ the world. He could see the dampness in the walls of his room at St. Agnes, the fact that the other kids were all nervous around him because they didn't want to offend him, he could see the texture of the paper in front of him and the lingering scent of vanilla ice cream that hung in the fibres. He knows that he would never have been able to focus on these things without Stick's help. Before Stick came, it was all burning and pain and multiple forces overwhelming him. Now, he is on his way to being able to refine that to sense each individual smell and sound and feel. All thanks to the mysterious man whose name was nothing but an object.

Matt was young, and to him, Stick had become a hero. Not in the way that his Dad was, nobody could replace that spot in Matt's heart for Jack; but it was as if Stick was becoming something new- a figure for him to aspire to- though Matt knows that he could probably never be as sarcastic and ruthless in his speech as the old man was.

Matt quickly throws the bracelet under his pillow as he registers one of the sisters approaching his door, followed by the creaking of the door opening.

"Matthew?" Sister Helena says in her timid tone.

"Yes Sister Helena?"

"Your friend is here to see you?"

"My friend?" Matt inquires, just a second before he registers the musky masculine smell that he only associates with Stick. His face tries to hide his smile as he hears Stick's cane tap his way into the room. He vaguely registers Sister Helena leaving the room.

"You're not working hard enough Matty." Stick states, no tact whatsoever.

"What do you mean?" Matt asks, slightly hurt.

"You should have known that it was me way before I entered the room. You're not focusing on everything like I told you to."

"I'm sorry Stick, I got distracted."

"Distracted? Don't you listen to a damn thing I say boy, you can't allow yourself to get distracted- you've got to focus."

Matt just nods obediently in response, knowing that though Stick can't see it, he knows it.

"Come on then- let's get going."

"Going?"

"We got to go train."

"We don't usually train on Sundays?"

"Well I changed my mind today, now get up."

Matt stands up quickly and prepares to leave. In the back of his mind, he can't help but wonder if Stick does know what day today is, and that's why he's met to train. Matt is hopeful at the thought.

* * *

 _3._

"Goodbye now. God be with you." Father Lantom ushers the last few people out of the church, ready to have some quiet time. When he turns around, he's not sure if he'll be getting it today.

A twenty-eight year old Matt Murdock sits by himself on a pew in the middle of the church. Father Lantom approaches him, taking a seat in the row in front.

"That was an excellent sermon today, Father." Matt comments.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it Matthew." The older man smiles at the younger, who returns the gesture. Father Lantom is always amazed by how Matt reads people, even though he's blind, but as always, he lets it slide. He knows that the Murdock boy is capable of a lot more than that.

"So Matthew, are you hanging around for confession, or did you want to get a latte?"

Matt laughs. "Neither actually, I just thought I would spend some time with you father; maybe just chat a little bit."

The priest raises his eyebrows. "What brought this on suddenly?"

The lawyer shrugs in response. "It's Father's Day, I don't have a Dad, you don't have a son- I thought we may be a good fit."

Father Lantom smiles at the young man that he has grown so attached to. "That doesn't sound too awful."

Matt smiles. "No discussions of vigilante activity or any of the usual stupid stuff that I bring in here. Let's talk about normal things."

"I spend most of my time here in the parish, Matthew, I can't really do small talk and discussion of television that was on last night."

"I can't really do that either- I don't own a tv."

"Of course you don't." Father Lantom laughs, Matt joining in as well.

So they discuss other things. Music and literature and the love of God. Matt feels comfortable in the presence of Father Lantom, and it does remind him of the days when he could sit and chill with his dad. He absolutely loves the fact that it's become like that. Matt so often tells himself that he's alone, and though most would see it as sad that his priest being as close as a friend, for Matt it is a reminder that he doesn't have to hide everything about himself away from everyone. He would expect Father Lantom to be shocked and appalled at the life he leads, but he has found that the older man always has an air of curiosity rather than judgement, and that is a weight lifted off Matt's chest.

As Matt rises to leave, he pauses to rest a hand on Father Lantom's shoulder. "Thank you. I truly mean that. You've been a great help to me Father."

Father Lantom smiles, but brushes off the compliment. "It is God you should be thanking Matthew. He is the father who has kept you safe all these years."

Matt smiles, and with a final nod leaves the parish. Maybe he's not so alone after all.

* * *

 **I hope this is okay- and I'm sorry it's so late! I will try and update Wingman soon as well! Please review, favourite, recommend or whatever! Bg. 97 xx**


End file.
